Misdirections
by Artemis Rain
Summary: FEMSLASH Unable to deal with the nature of her complex feelings for Grace, Glynis entangles herself in a web of selfdeception.


Disclaimer: I am not associated with Joan of Arcadia (except for the fact that I watch it) and I do not own any of it, especially the characters. I make no money from this, unfortunately, and I am a student, so suing me? Would be a huge waste of time.

Spoilers: Queen of the Zombies

Warnings: Femslash

Summary: Unable to deal with the nature of her complex feelings for Grace, Glynis entangles herself in a web of self-deception.

Author's note: Well, this story is kinda crazy. I don't know where it came from. No, wait, I do. It's the product of consuming too much caffeine before bed. Lying awake, vibrating, thinking crazy thoughts. This is what happens! Don't do it!

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Misdirections

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She enters the room, filling it up with her presence. Her walk, her look, her late appearance in the science room, even the way her breath leaves her body commands attention. Her eyes are open. She doesn't see me. She takes her seat behind me, as Lischak marks in her attendance book and shakes her head. Grace Polk: Late again. That's every day this week. And the week before that. And the week before that. It's a wonder she hasn't been expelled. Nothing commands respect like the blatant and offhanded disregard for strict authoritarian time tables, I suppose. I don't turn to look at her, but I know she's not looking at me. Her eyes are open. She's never looked at me with anything other than mild irritation. _Except that one time…_ She's looking at him. She only looks at me when her eyes are closed.

The budding relationship between her and Luke caught everyone off guard. But especially me. It's a joke, right? She can't feel that way about him. She's a lesbian. Her clothes, her attitude, it all screams "dyke!" She's never denied it. _Or confirmed it…_Clearly, it's true. They have nothing in common. She's using him, I suppose. Tired of the rumours, the gossip, she got herself a boyfriend. But she doesn't love him. She loves me. _You love her…_

I know this because all day she stares at him, walks with him, touches him. But at night, when the doors are closed and the blinds are down, she crawls into bed, closes her eyes, and holds me in her arms. Holding me, caressing me, in the space behind her eyes, where no one can see us. Invisible and silent. I feel her, from my bed on the other side of town, running her hands over my imaginary body, my body quivering at the touch of her imaginary hands. I feel her arms snaking around my body, fingers tangled in my hair. Lips… And I know she's thinking of me. But I'm nothing like her. _Nothing at all?_ I don't feel that way. I am normal. _What is normal?_ _Please, let me be normal…_

I have tried to dissuade her: prove to her that I like boys. I flirted. I pursued Luke. I didn't look at her, even when my eyes were closed. _Didn't you?_ No, she was looking at me. That's what I felt. I would never look at her. I don't feel that way. I am normal.

He loves her. That, I know. But she's a raging fire. And freezing rain. At every approach he was simultaneously burned up and frozen solid. He got tired of it, and turned to me. Funny that we turned to each other for exactly the same reason: to distract ourselves from Grace Polk. We're so much alike, he and I. I wanted her to see that. _We belong together_. Blond, Italian, cheerful, intelligent. Not like her. I have always been careful to use lots of big words in her presence, to keep up with him. I read ahead in the textbook, I flip through the dictionary, all so she can see how smart I am, how suited to him I am. I'm not like her. I'm cheerful, peppy, or at least I work hard to seem it. The thought makes the bright, enthusiastic smile on my face grow larger, and if I had been speaking out loud, my voice would have risen an octave. She had to see. She had to stop looking at me like that, behind her eyes. It will never happen. I don't feel that way. I love Luke. I am normal.

Lischak paces the room, asking questions. Easy. I know them all. My hand flies up, but a little after Luke's. I let him answer. I want him to keep liking me. Maybe he'll come back to me, when she's through with him. My pencil rolls off the table and as I lean over to pick it up, I can't resist a glance at her. She's watching him with smoldering eyes, and a tiny smile on her lips. She can't be thinking about him. She doesn't love him. _Doesn't she?…_ Maybe I'll answer the next one.

We worked together once, the three of us, on a lab. Friedman was in the musical, and we needed a third group member. Luke convinced her to work with us. It was good. Luke and I chatted about fractals, and she fumed about her obvious exclusion. Then she left. I thought she had seen, and accepted, that Luke and I belonged together. That she would release us both. She wouldn't keep me anymore, in that quiet, secret space behind her eyes. I was wrong. She thought of me again that night, pressing her body against mine from her house across town. Holding me, loving me, clandestine. Then she took her anger out on Luke. Sulking, silent, deadly calm. She couldn't have me, and she took it out on him. But she didn't give up. Sometimes, in class, she would close her eyes and I would feel her thinking of me. I had to get her out of my head. I confronted her, yelled.

"What is your problem, Polk?" She couldn't answer. I was intervening on his behalf, of course. He loved her, even though she was just using him. I couldn't bear to see him heartbroken. I had only wanted her to see how good we were together. To prove that I wanted him, and not her. "How about you just get over yourself, OK?" _And leave me alone!_ "Everybody knows Luke adores you." _I adore you._ "I'm willing to work with you," _even though you won't get out of my head, _"and if anyone should have a problem here, it's me, so you sulking and refusing to talk to Luke is just arrogance." _Or spite._ "Either that, or you actually believe that anything could happen between Luke and me, which couldn't be further from the truth, no matter how much I might fantasize." _You made sure of that._ "So why don't you do everyone a favor and take the giant stick out of your butt."

I made it clear that I was not trying to steal him from her. _I just want you…_ I wanted him back. But he was with her, no matter how much I hated it. No matter how much I might fantasize. _About her…_I was strong and firm. I showed her she couldn't just walk all over me. I would fight back. I had hoped to discourage her. That was the one time… _the only time… _that the mild irritation in her eyes when she looked at me was gone. In it's place: respect. I had hoped to make things better. I failed.

I am still failing. Risking another glance behind me I see that her head is down and her eyes are closed. She looks asleep. She's not. I can feel her looking at me. Holding me behind her eyes. Even now, I feel her hands creeping up my back, her breath disturbing my hair. My body warms. It's not me; it's her. Since she began the farcical relationship with Luke, her icy exterior has melted away, leaving only her fiery spirit. I feel the heat, even through her thoughts. Blazing, consuming. I suspect that if I touched her, my skin would char and blister. I wonder if it burns him, to be so close to her. I'll never know.

I'll never touch her.

I am normal.


End file.
